Used to hate it, now I love it

IT'S been a rainy old weekend. Warm but rainy. And the garden looks a totally different sight already.

After weeks of drought-like weather, the surrounding shrubbery has taken on a new look. Within days, the dusty and threadbare back garden has been transformed into what now resembles a lush paddock ... and it's all down to a hefty serving of the wet stuff.

I don't resent the rain here like I did in the UK. It's a powerful and much valued commodity that's taken for granted - and here, there's a severe shortage of it.

I have memories of planning countless social events with friends and family, only to have those plans scuppered by Wales' torrential downfalls. At the races, it rained. At the park, it rained. During the height of summer barbecues and camping trips, it rained. It was something we simply got used to. And it was something we simply always moaned about.

But although Melbourne gets its fair share, rain rarely stops play. It's usually warm enough to dry up right after itself and most of the public barbecue areas are under cover - predominantly to provide shade from the rays but to the contrare, to keep one's rib-eye and kanga-bangers dry too.

We've re-trained ourselves to switch off the taps when we're brushing our teeth, only fill the sink with the amount of water needed to wash the dishes and limit our time in the shower.
The cars rarely get a clean and the plants barely get a soaking, but that's purely down to the fact that I can never drag myself out of bed to make the 6am-8am twice weekly curfew in which to do it.

The time slot is most definitely one that deters the would-be water wasters and is for those diehard fans of the hosepipe. Anyone found working the water out of this time zone risks hefty fines and residential water restrictions.

I can't afford to have any more fines after the ones I've been hit with, thanks to my heavy right foot, so the more rain down here, the better, in my book.

Learn something new every day

WELL. That's another load of visitors gone, bid farewell with choked works and teary eyes.

Our 18-year-old niece and boyfriend have spent the last four or five weeks camping in our back yard before catching the one-way-road up north. Enroute, they'll be stopping off at all the usual places like Sydney, Queensland and the Northern Territory, followed by trips to New Zealand and the USA before heading back to the UK and onto to take up their university educations.

This trip will teach them lots in the way of lifeskills. For three nights, they planned a short trip to see the Twelve Apostles - one of Victoria's most breathtaking sights on the Great Ocean Road. On this youth-hostel-based-trip alone, they came back to the peninsula armed with enough information to write a book and the enthusiasm to get on with the next part of their travelog.

Ours boys have so enjoyed having one of their eldest cousins around - to watch them play basketball, collect them from school and even help them out with their homework. But there are some schoolwork assignments that children simply have to accomplish themselves.

And I'm not talking about spellings, or reading, or even the nine-times-table. It's what my 10-year-old has been doing this past few weeks and after seaside events of the past few weeks, I favour it big time.

A two-day excursion took my boy out to one of the local stretches of beach where he, along with his school chums, embarked on an intensive water safety and survival program. The days were designed to give the children an opportunity to develop their water skills and enhance their appreciation for the beach environment.

This year, the school incorporated a 'Resusitate a Mate' activity, delivered by Lifesaving Victoria. The one-hour interactive session has been designed to introduce children to basic anatomy and emergency response management and I'm all for it. Especially so, after recent events when we could have so easily lost our youngest son to the clutches of the waves.

On the last day of this program, the children competed in Iron Boy and Girl events when they had to run a kilometre along the beach, swim and the paddle their way around a grueller of a course.

Having lessons at the seaside is awesome. Just ask my boys!

Now you 'sea' it, now you don't

I'M tired. Burning the candle at both ends is starting to take its toll on me.

In work on Saturday arvo, a few colleagues who were up for a night on the sauce made arrangements to meet up with me later on as I celebrated the birthday party of one of my girlfriends.

We rocked up at the Indian restaurant with wine in brown bags and sort of took over the whole venue in a giggly and brash sort of way. But what a whole heap of fun we had.

I'm glad I'm now in a situation where I can grab a few co-workers and get out on the town. That's a major part of what I've been missing over the past twelve months. The work-social-scenario that I left behind was a relatively healthy one and I've missed it heaps. Until now.

I work with a few like-minded good-time girls and an even more like-minded good-time guy who is the best company. Based at a different office up towards the city, he has a certain 'je ne sais quoi' quality about him. His one-liners are priceless and his comic genius has me in stitches. It's funny how you can bond so well with a virtual stranger but I feel like I've known him forever.

So again, the inevitable re-occurred that resulted in me reaching for the Panadol on Sunday morning. But the best hangover cure did present itself to me later that day as we took up an invitation to one of our local beaches with some friends.

We arranged to meet up after us loading up our kayak and skim boards and them loading up their kayak, skim boards, waterskis, 'doughnut', kneeboard, jetski and ... wait for it, speedboat. And what a great time we all had. Even me. The biggest non-water-baby that ever walked the earth.

After a spin in the boat, my girlfriend tried to get me on the back of her jetski. Having none of it, I re-told the tale of the last time I went on one, some 15 odd years ago, only to get thrown off it and having to swim back to shore. They spent all afternoon in persuasive mode until finally I gave in and jumped onto the driver's seat with her husband as pillion. After a minute or two negotiating the waves, I cranked up to full throttle, egged on by my daredevil passenger.

But the best part of the day has to be when have-a-go husband tried his hand at kneeboarding off the back of the boat. I was the 'spotter' that's a requirement when towing someone to look out for them and their safety.

I did fear, at one point though, for the safety of the landlubbers we'd left behind on the shore, as husband lost his shorts and gave the local sealife a shock as he bobbed along looking for his lost property.

He soon wished the sea he was in wasn't quite so clear as we on board got an absolute eyeful of his predicament. Hilarious!

All in a mother's days work

SINCE we've lived in Australia, I've been in the sea how many times? Let me recall.... ermmm... twice.

The first was when I was under the influence and didn't care that I was fully dressed and soaked to the skin. The second time was to save my youngest son's life.

The latter, I realise, sounds melodramatic but that's exactly how it is. We went down to the sea for some bank holiday beach fun and took advantage of the dry weather before the forecast storms headed down.

The boys and their dad were out quite far as I watched from the comfort of my recliner but it was shallow. They were far out but I could see that they had no problem standing up and enjoying the water.

So as I chatted on the shore, I spotted youngest son leaving the flock and heading back. The clouds, I noticed, had suddenly gotten blacker and the waves a tad higher. And stronger.

As he swam towards the sand, I could see him trying to swim but his efforts were getting him nowhere as he bobbed around among the waves.
I called to husband to keep an eye on him, but then something inside my head told me I had to kick off my shoes and just get in there to him. Fast.

At this point, husband realised something was wrong from the fact that I had actually got into the water, in my clothes, and was swimming for my life towards the little fella.

For every two strokes forward, the waves slammed me back one but I shouted out to him that I was nearly there and that he just had to wait a bit for me. I plucked him from the water and carried him back to shore - wishing that the clothes I'd opted to put on this day, weren't quite so transparent when drenched!

So, a little shocked, we bundled our things together and threw them in the boot of the car and headed home for a hot tea with four sugars.... followed by a beer to chill the nerves.

The dangers of swimming have now shown their true colours to this family. I'm glad this has happened if only to show the children how easy it is for life to be taken away. With one parent in the water and one on dry land, this time we all lived to tell the tale. But it could have so easily been a whole different story.

But the laugh is on me for the time being. Before my hair had even had chance to dry, I'd been dubbed Baywatch, Bondi Mandi and even Pamela M-anderson.

One to tell the grandchildren though I suppose...

The visitors have landed

THIS week, we took delivery of our second set of visitors. Fresh from three weeks in Sydney, came our 18-year-old niece and boyfriend.

They've spent the last couple of months working at jobs in UK to save up the funds for the return flight and sustainance allowance that will keep them going for the five months they're over here.

Last night, we took them for a Thai meal in town, that wasn't before making a pitstop at the grog warehouse to pick up some supplies. They were made up to be going out to a restaurant where you could get out your six pack in full view of the restaurant staff who didn't bat an eyelid. A six pack of the bottle variety, of course. Anything other would've raised some eyebrows, for sure.

So the BYO (Bring Your Own) restaurant was a hit and then we headed off to hit the hotspots of the town and in a moment of madness, I agreed to bypass the lengthy cab queue and walk the 4km walk home. In heels. And with a girlfriend with higher ones than I.

Not one of my best decisions but an hour and a half later, we were home and ready for zzzz's. It's a tiring business, this entertaining lark. I need to take them snorkelling at our local beach to swim with the sealife and if they want, all the local attractions of the area that we now, as residents, take for granted.

A visit to Melbourne wouldn't be complete without a trip up north into the city for the annual Moomba Festival. The free community festival, covering four days, claims to be the largest in Australia and here we have it. Right on our culture-vulture doorstep.

The art, music, sport and cultural festival is in it's 55th year and one of the attactions I want to catch is the Birdman Rally when fearless birdmen and women take to the skies in their madcap attempts to fly across the Yarra River.

But I really will need to make all efforts to stay off the Yarra Valley wine on whichever day we eventually decide to go in on. Or I can see the Birdman Rally getting itself a last minute entrant.